


blow cold the season

by schweet_heart



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Era, First Christmas, First Kiss, Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, Magic Reveal, Mutual Pining, Not Canon Compliant, Winter Knights 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:55:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28425090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schweet_heart/pseuds/schweet_heart
Summary: It’s Yuletide in Camelot, but things are far from merry. Homesick for the familiar traditions of Ealdor, Merlin can’t help feeling lost amidst the hustle and bustle of castle life, and it doesn’t help that Arthur has been in a terrible mood recently. Fortunately, as the longest night commences, Merlin comes up with a way to cheer them both up—and maybe give destiny a helping hand into the bargain.Written for Winter Knights 2020.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 353
Collections: WinterKnights 2020 - a Merlin Winter/Holiday Fest





	blow cold the season

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to the mods for being so patient, and for keeping the fest running for another holiday season. I hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas, and I wish you all a safe and happy New Year!
> 
> Title from _Wintertime Love_ , by The Doors:
> 
> _Wintertime winds blow cold the season  
>  Fallen in love, I'm hopin' to be  
>  Wind is so cold, is that the reason?  
>  Keeping you warm, your hands touching me._

“Ugh,” Merlin said, stopping in the doorway of his bedroom to peer out the window. “ _Sleet_.” 

It was more like rain than sleet, actually—a fine, steady, and undoubtedly freezing rain, but still: not snow. Merlin had been holding out for snow all week, hoping for just one thing to make the holiday season more familiar, but alas. Arthur had told him that Camelot seldom got snow over Yuletide, and it seemed as though Arthur had been right.

“Good morning to you, too,” Gaius said, raising an eyebrow. “And Glæd Geol. Did you sleep well?”

“Good morning, Gaius.” Smiling sheepishly, Merlin took his place at the breakfast table. “I slept fine, thank you. And you?”

“Not so fine that I didn’t hear you tossing and turning all night,” Gaius said, and Merlin slumped a little in his seat. That tone was one he had heard before, usually from his Mam, and he didn’t want to be reminded of her just now. “Is something wrong? It was very cold last night—I could ask the seneschal for an extra blanket if you—”

“No, don’t trouble him,” Merlin said quickly. There were plenty of other servants in the castle, and not enough blankets to go around; besides, he could always use his magic if he needed to. “It wasn’t that. I was just looking forward to spending my first Yule in Camelot, that’s all.” 

“Hm.” Gaius eyed him suspiciously for a moment, and Merlin did his best to look excited—or as excited as it was possible to be when the sky was full of sleet, anyway. “I see. Well, I’m sure it will be very different to what you’re used to. You’ll be expected to help with preparations for the Yule feast, including decorating the prince’s chambers and the Great Hall. I expect Arthur will let you know about your additional duties.” 

“I’m sure he will,” Merlin muttered, before picking up his bowl and shovelling warm porridge into his mouth. It was a far cry from his Mam’s cooking, of course, but most meals in Camelot were. “Arthur never misses a chance to give me extra chores.” 

“And you never miss a chance to try and wriggle out of them.” Gaius frowned at him. “I expect you to be on your best behaviour today, Merlin. This time of year can be very hard for the prince, to say nothing of his father. You don’t want to give either of them a reason to dismiss you.” 

“Of course not,” Merlin said, a little surprised. Personally, he didn’t see what was quite so difficult about having to eat, drink, and be merry for twelve days straight; but then, he wasn’t royalty, so he wouldn’t know. “I’ll be good, I promise. I won’t even use my magic if I don’t have to.” 

“See that you don’t.” Gaius held his gaze for another moment longer, as though determined to impress upon him the seriousness of the situation, but then he smiled. “And take a little extra honey in your porridge this morning, my boy. You look as though you could do with something sweet.”

Merlin did his best to smile back. It wasn’t that he didn’t know how lucky he was to be here, or that Gaius had done them a huge favour by agreeing to take him in at such short notice; if he’d stayed at home in Ealdor for much longer, he’d only have ended up getting into more trouble than he already was. Kind as the old man was, however, and happy as Merlin had been these past few months in the castle, he missed his home. Spending the season as Arthur’s servant was a poor substitute for spending it with his Mam, no matter how lavish and expensive the celebration might be.

❄︎

Arthur was still asleep when Merlin entered his chambers, though to be fair it was still quite dark out. Merlin set the breakfast tray down with barely a rattle, waving a hand to rekindle the fire as he crossed to the windows to draw back the curtains. 

“Glæd Geol, Arthur,” he said, trying to inject a note of cheerfulness into his voice. It wasn’t hard; the prince this morning had rolled himself up in his blankets like a sausage in a layer of pastry, only a few tufts of messy golden hair sticking out. “Rise and shine! It’s the first day of Yule today; aren’t you excited?” 

“Go 'way,” Arthur said grumpily. “’s too early.” 

“It’s almost third hour,” Merlin objected. “You’re already late for breakfast; if you don’t get up now, you’ll be late for training, too.” 

That made Arthur raise his head, although he still looked bleary-eyed. “I don’t have training today,” he said, frowning, and Merlin was amused to see a pink pillow crease marking one cheek. “You know that. I told you yesterday.” 

“Did you?” Merlin said blandly. “I'm sorry, sire, I must have forgotten. But since you’re awake now—”

Arthur threw a pillow at him. Merlin caught it expertly—he’d had a lot of practice, after all—and set it down on a nearby chair. Arthur had about three more missiles left to throw, by his calculation, at which point he would be forced to get up if he wanted to retrieve them, which was how Merlin had been coaxing out of bed this winter so far. Arthur hated the cold, hated waking up in darkness, and hated it even more when Merlin pointed out either of these things, so Merlin had been resorting to increasingly obnoxious methods to ensure he got up on time. 

This morning, however, instead of carrying on with their usual routine, Arthur just flopped back onto his remaining cushions with a sigh and stared at the ceiling. 

“Lay out my things by the fire, and then you may go,” he said, not looking at Merlin. “I’m sure you’ve many other duties to be getting on with.” 

“Well, yes,” Merlin said, rather taken aback. “But—I mean, are you sure you don’t want me to…?”

He trailed off. He couldn’t exactly say, _are you sure you don’t want me to stay and annoy you like I usually do_ , because they'd both done a very careful job of pretending they hadn’t grown to enjoy one another’s company over the past few weeks. Or, at least, _Merlin_ had been pretending; it was entirely possible that Arthur’s annoyance with him was in earnest, but in either case it was silly of him to get so upset about being sent away. There would be plenty of other mornings to stay and spend time with Arthur, and by all accounts it was going to be a very busy day. He should be happy that the prince was being mindful of his workload.

“Merlin, my _clothes_ ,” Arthur said again, sounding irritated. “And light some candles will you, before you go? If I’m going to dress myself this morning, I would prefer not to do so in complete darkness.” 

“Yes, sire,” Merlin said, sighing, and did as he was told.

❄︎

The rest of Merlin’s morning was more of the same. The other servants were too busy to chat, and the entire castle was a hive of activity, which at least served to allay the worst of the bitter cold. Merlin went where he was bid for once and didn’t bother to complain, since Arthur wasn’t around to scold him for it, but the more he hauled water, hung holly wreaths, and distributed oak boughs, the more he found himself missing the familiar Yule traditions of Ealdor. 

Back home, the villagers would make the decorations together, all of them crowded around in the head man’s house, drinking sweet apple cider and swapping stories about the Sidhe and other magical beings to while away the hours of darkness. There would be sugared cakes and sweetmeats and a Yule log in the fire, and though more often than not it would end up snowing outside, the warmth and camaraderie _inside_ would be more than enough to keep the winter chill at bay.

By contrast, spending Yuletide in Camelot, where everything was perfect and majestic and _lonely_ , simply wasn’t the same, and every time he had to go out into the driving sleet, his collar turned up against the weather, Merlin felt his already sour mood grow even sourer. 

By the time Merlin saw the prince again, it was nearly evening, and Arthur seemed to be in as foul a temper as Merlin was himself.

“No, not that tunic, the other one,” he snapped, sending Merlin back to his armoire for the third time. “Honestly, Merlin, are you even paying attention? Look at where I’m pointing.” 

“I _am_ looking, sire,” Merlin snapped back, just barely refraining from chucking a sock at Arthur’s head. “It’s not my fault all your tunics look the same!”

“They’re completely different, actually,” Arthur said coolly. “That one has brass buttons with a fleur-de-lis stamped on them, while _that_ one—”

“Oh, I do beg your pardon.” Merlin gave up on keeping his temper and all but threw the tunic he was holding into Arthur’s arms. “Of course, the _buttons_ are different, how silly of me for not being able to see that right away.” 

They glared at one another for a long moment, before Arthur finally sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Just pick one,” he said tiredly. “I don’t care which. I just want to get this over with.” 

The sudden change in tone was so uncharacteristic that it made Merlin pause for a moment, jolted out of his ill humour long enough to really look at the prince. Arthur’s face was drawn and unhappy, the corners of his mouth turned down, and he looked about as cold and miserable as Merlin felt. More than that, he looked rumpled, as if he hadn’t slept well, and there were dark circles visible beneath his eyes. 

“Arthur,” Merlin said tentatively, taking a step forward. “Is everything all right?” 

“Yes, everything’s fine.” Arthur glanced away, lips curving into something that was probably meant to be a smile. “Why wouldn’t it be?” 

That was exactly what Merlin wanted to know, but Arthur had been so strange and distant today that he didn’t quite know how to ask.

“No reason,” he murmured, and set about dressing the prince in silence, making a mental note to ensure there was a plate of honey cakes next to Arthur’s at the feast. If nothing else, perhaps Gaius’ sweet-treats strategy would help to cheer him up. 

❄︎

Feast days at Camelot were always exhausting, and Yuletide was certainly no exception. As Arthur’s manservant, Merlin’s main job was to see to it that the prince was supplied with everything he needed, and to ensure that his goblet never ran dry. This latter task was made easier by the fact that Arthur seemed determined not to indulge this evening; instead, he pushed the meat around on his plate, occasionally taking a desultory bite but otherwise barely touching the food or wine.

“What's the matter with you _now_?” Merlin hissed at him, under cover of yet another course being brought out by a team of servants. “You haven’t eaten a single bite since you sat down.” 

“I suppose I’m just not very hungry,” Arthur answered, his recalcitrant mood from earlier apparently back in full force. “The celebration goes on for twelve days, remember; I have to pace myself.” 

“You also have to _eat_ _something_ ,” Merlin growled, pushing a plate of roast venison towards him. “The cook spent all day preparing this; you could at least act like you’re enjoying it.” 

Arthur shot him a dark look, but as always, the appeal to his conscience seemed to get through where concern for his own well-being had not; he cut off a small piece of meat and stuck it in his mouth, chewing with exaggerated care before swallowing and chasing it down with a mouthful of wine. Merlin’s attention snagged briefly on the bob of his Adam’s apple at his throat, the way his mouth seemed to gleam redder and fuller now that it was slick with wine, before he wrenched it away.

“Well?” Arthur demanded, setting down his knife. “Are you satisfied? I’ve eaten something, it was very nice, please give my compliments to the cook. Now, kindly leave me alone to enjoy the evening.” 

Merlin opened his mouth to point out that Arthur didn’t seem to have been enjoying his evening very much so far, but he was forestalled by the sight of King Uther getting to his feet.

“If I might have your attention, please,” the king said, and the noise quieted immediately, the musicians cutting off mid-song to allow him to speak. “As you all know, the winter solstice marks the shortest day of the year, and with it, an end to darkness and the return of brighter things. In Camelot, however, it also marks an important milestone for the kingdom: the birth of my son, Prince Arthur, almost twenty years ago today.” He paused, inclining his head in Arthur’s direction, and the crowd gave a muted cheer. “Over the past two decades, Camelot has faced a deadly foe: the scourge of sorcery, and it is thanks to his efforts that we have triumphed over our enemies on every front. On this, our darkest night, I therefore ask you to celebrate with me how far we’ve come, and join me in hoping for an even greater future. To Camelot!”

“To Camelot!” the courtiers echoed, lifting their cups. Even Arthur joined in this time, raising his goblet briefly to meet his father’s before taking a long swallow. He had to have felt Merlin’s eyes on him—they were practically boring a hole into the side of his head, at this point—but he gave no indication of it as he smiled and nodded his thanks to the noblemen surrounding him. 

“Something you forgot to tell me, sire?” Merlin asked eventually, when the congratulations were over and Arthur finally sat down. Hurt and confusion were warring beneath his breastbone. He knew he and Arthur could never be close, not really, not with the differences of rank and power that lay between them, but he had thought they were at least becoming friends. “An important fact or two that might have slipped your mind?”

“Go and help out some of the other guests, Merlin,” Arthur replied, stone-faced. “Once the feast is over, you may take the rest of the night off. I’m sure I can undress myself for one evening.”

❄︎

It was late by the time the revelry began to die down. King Uther had retired long before, claiming the need for an early night, though Merlin suspected it was because he knew the courtiers would have more fun without him there. Arthur, however, seemed determined to last out every miserable minute of the feast, despite looking as though he would rather be anywhere else, and unlike his father he was among the very last to leave the hall.

In theory, Merlin didn't _have_ to follow him. Arthur was the one who’d given him the evening off, after all, so it wasn’t as though he could complain if Merlin didn’t show up to attend to him, and it would certainly serve him right for being such a prat. On the other hand, however, Arthur had also been out of sorts for most of the day, and Merlin had a feeling that his summary dismissal had more to do with not wanting to be spotted having _feelings_ than it did with truly wanting to be alone.

Accordingly, he set down the pitcher of wine he had been carrying and hurried after the prince as he slipped out the servants' entrance and up an otherwise deserted staircase. He had to move quietly, keeping to the shadows so as not to be spotted, and after a few unexpected turns he knew that he'd been right: Arthur wasn't taking the route that led back to his chambers, but instead was heading for the Western Tower, a place he sometimes liked to go when he needed to think. For all that Arthur liked to act mysterious and inscrutable at times, it hadn't taken Merlin long to figure out most of his secrets—or so he'd thought. It was part of what had made tonight’s revelation so crushing, in retrospect—he had honestly believed Arthur was starting to open up to him, but it seemed he had only been fooling himself.

When he stepped out onto the tower roof, he found Arthur staring out over the citadel with his arms braced on one the crenels, one side of his profile lit red and gold by the torch he'd left guttering in a bracket by the door. The sleet seemed to have died away— _finally_ —and the night was crisp and clear, the battlements slick with moisture where Arthur leaned against them. He didn’t seem particularly surprised to have been followed. 

“You didn’t tell me it was your birthday,” Merlin said, taking his place at the balustrade beside him. Below, the lights of Camelot winked up at them through the darkness, scattered through the night like fallen stars. “If I’d known, I would have bought you a present.” 

Arthur’s answering smile was tight around the edges. “I assumed Gaius would have told you about it,” he said, which was as much of an apology as Merlin supposed he was likely to get. “It’s—not a subject I particularly like to discuss.” 

At last, the pained look on Arthur’s face and Gaius’ earlier comments fell into place, and Merlin could have kicked himself for not realising it sooner. The queen—Arthur’s mother—had died in childbirth, which meant that the anniversary of Arthur’s birth was also the day of her death, something Gaius _had_ mentioned to him more than once, but Merlin had apparently forgotten in the long weeks since his arrival. He sucked in cold air through his teeth.

“Arthur, I’m sorry—” 

“It’s not your fault.” Arthur cut him off. “I should have mentioned it. I just...My father barely speaks about my mother as it is, and around Yule he acts as though she never existed. I suppose I got into the habit of doing the same.” 

Merlin knew what that was like. His mother hardly talked about his father either, despite the fact that almost two decades had passed since he'd left them, and there were times when she would get a faraway look in her eye, or when she’d start to tell a story and then go silent, and Merlin knew that she was thinking about his dad.

"I never knew my father, either," he said, when Arthur turned to look at him. "He left before I was born—he could be dead by now, for all I know. My mother never talks about him."

"I'm sorry," Arthur said. "That must be difficult."

"I guess." Merlin shrugged one shoulder. "Could be worse, though—I mean, at least my dad could still be out there, somewhere. But I'd give anything to be able to meet him, just once. You know?"

"Yeah," Arthur said, his expression softening infinitesimally. "I know."

They stood there for a while without speaking, standing shoulder to shoulder as they looked out over the Lower Town. Arthur's body was warm where it pressed against Merlin's own, and there was an easiness to the silence that went a long way towards making up for Merlin's earlier discomfiture. He had a feeling Arthur didn't talk about his mother with just anyone.

At length, however, Arthur stirred, nudging his elbow into Merlin's side.

"You know why _I've_ been in such a bad mood all day," he said, sounding more like his usual self. "But what about you—what's your excuse?"

"I haven't been in a bad mood," Merlin denied, his cheeks flushing. He hadn't expected Arthur to notice his surliness, let alone ask the reason for it. "I've been busy putting up with _you_ , which is more than enough to drive anyone mad."

"Uh huh." Arthur didn't sound convinced. "Which is why every time I've seen you today, you've looked like a looming thundercloud. Tell me honestly," he added, his lips quirking. "Is it because of what I said about the buttons?"

Maybe it was because of the way Arthur was looking at him, all open and teasing, or maybe it was because Merlin had been bottling it up for too long, but he didn't manage to come up with a funny retort the way he'd intended. "I miss Ealdor," he said in a rush, before biting his lip and wishing he could take it back. "Not that there's anything wrong with Camelot. I just—"

"You want to be with your family," Arthur said, nodding. "That's understandable."

"Well, yes," Merlin admitted. "I miss my mam, and Will, but also—I miss the snow."

"The snow." Arthur raised an eyebrow at him. "Does it snow often in Ealdor, then?"

"It always used to snow at Yuletide," Merlin said, neglecting to mention that sometimes the weather had a bit of a helping hand. "Will and I would build forts out of it and throw snowballs at each other. One time, I hit him with a snowball that had a rock in it— _not_ on purpose—and cut his head open. You should have heard the bollocking my mam gave me."

Arthur snorted and shook his head. "Why am I not surprised?" he asked rhetorically. "I bet the two of you got up to all sorts of tricks together."

"Guilty as charged," Merlin said, grinning, but thinking about Will made him think about the other kinds of mischief they had made together, and his smile faded. He glanced over at Arthur again, his heartrate picking up as he imagined telling him the truth, and sharing his magic with the prince the way Arthur had shared his feelings about his mother. Gaius would probably kill him for even thinking about it, but Merlin was almost positive that Arthur wouldn't hurt him. Would he?

"Arthur," he said, catching hold of the prince's arm. "If I tell you something, will you promise not to share it with anyone else?"

"That depends on what it is," Arthur said, looking slightly wary at the sudden change of subject. He glanced down at Merlin's hand and then back up again, his head tilted to one side as though in question. "Why? What are you hiding?"

"I—" Merlin opened his mouth to speak, but his nerves failed him. “Maybe it'd be easier if I just show you," he said. He held his free hand out over the battlements, palm upward, and whispered, " _Snīwdaþ, o wolcenfaru_.” 

At first, nothing happened, though Merlin knew Arthur must have seen his eyes flash by the way the prince sucked in a sharp breath and stiffened, taking half a step back. Merlin tightened his hold on Arthur’s wrist, silently begging him not to pull away, and miraculously Arthur stayed where he was, not even shifting his weight to reach for his sword. 

“It’s yours,” Merlin blurted out, as the first soft flakes began to fall around them. “All of it; my magic—I use it only for you.” 

“For me?” 

“Who else?” Merlin risked a small smile. “You’re the only one around here who keeps getting into trouble on a regular basis.” 

“I think you might have the two of us confused,” Arthur said drily, though some of the tension seemed to bleed out of his shoulders. He took a step forward, studying Merlin’s face as though he could find some sort of answer there. “I’m not the one who left a perfectly good village to come to kingdom where even _breathing_ the word magic could get someone killed. Didn’t you hear my father’s little speech earlier? He won’t spare you if he finds out what you are.” 

“I know,” Merlin said, meeting his gaze steadily. “Which is why I've kind of been hoping he wouldn't find out.”

Arthur didn’t say anything. There were snowflakes clinging to his hair now, caught in his eyelashes, and when he blinked it was like a shower of tiny diamonds. Merlin waited, aware that he was holding onto Arthur’s arm too tightly but somehow unable to let go.

“He won’t hear it from me,” Arthur said at last, his first proper smile of the day—or perhaps the week—curling the corners of his lips. “Provided I don’t catch you doing anything stupid.” 

“Like what?” Merlin asked, daring to look at his mouth. “Like standing on a tower with a prince and conjuring up a snowstorm?”

“Touché,” Arthur said, smirking, and he was already moving forward when Merlin leaned over and kissed him. 


End file.
